


A guiding hand

by Elphen



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: M/M, allusions to previous series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-26
Updated: 2012-11-29
Packaged: 2017-11-19 15:34:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/574855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elphen/pseuds/Elphen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hathaway ponders the relationship between an Inspector and his Sergeant, both past and present. He should remember, that what you ponder can sneak into one's dreams.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for lame title, I suck at those. This was actually my very first idea for writing a fic after getting into this fandom, but I mislaid the pad where I wrote the initial idea and I only just found it the other day. Sorry if this is a little off, I'm rusty in writing these guys.

Hathaway pondered. He pondered a lot of things, really. One had to do something when one’s brain was too well-wired and clever to be fully occupied by the everyday humdrum and quiet speculations that most of the population was filling their heads with, after all. Some ponderings took a higher priority than others, however.

One thing he pondered many times, without ever really getting to a concise answer, was his superior. Inspector Lewis was a complicated man, whatever his claims to the contrary were. Oh, he may have been a simple copper and family man, once upon a time. But even before his kids had grown up and before he had lost his Val, Hathaway didn’t believe Lewis to have been simple or stupid. More open and trusting, perhaps, good-natured. A reflection of his upbringing, probably, but there were something there – usually in the un-checked moments of the inspector the sergeant caught out of the corner of his eye – that suggested it was in his nature.

When confronted with ‘allegations’ of being clever, being complicated, Lewis would either shrug it off with a half-amused half exasperated “don’t be daft, man, come off it!” or he would smile; a small smile that mixed warmth, sadness, self-deprecation and a bit of wistfulness. That smile made something inside the younger man clench every time he saw it; when it appeared he had to suppress the urge to wipe it away somehow. He wasn’t sure how, exactly, and especially not in a way that wouldn’t be rejected, he was certain. But the fact was that the inspector was not simple, at all, in the sense of stupid or anything of the kind.

There was also something to be said about the fact that if Lewis had been as simple as he indirectly claimed, he neither would have made inspector nor have been able to keep up with his former superior in his days as a sergeant. Wherever you came across something to do with Lewis, especially in terms of police work, there was Morse, looming.

Hathaway paused, setting the half-full wineglass he was holding down on the coffee table in front of him, his forehead wrinkling slightly in a mix of concentration and slight annoyance. No, looming wasn’t the right word. That was a word for somebody that nobody liked very much who was nevertheless everywhere. Well, he supposed most people hadn’t liked Morse. Even Lewis seemed to have had some issues with him, but there was something there, always. A respect, a protectiveness, a fondness. A love, he supposed, though of the platonic sort. Nobody would have taken such good care of someone as Lewis had of Morse – and by all accounts (he honestly should be too good to listen to office gossip, but there you were) the care had been given openly through many years – if there hadn’t been some serious ‘loving’ notions there. Although Robbie would grumble, moan and snap about his former boss, he’d get on the defensive instantly if anyone else tried to talk bad about him, like a dog defending its master. Wrong metaphor, though. He ought to think of a better one. Maybe more like a husband being the only one allowed to be badgering about his missus. Again, not quite right, but with the good relation of an inspector and his sergeant came the implications of a platonic marriage, so he supposed it could work.

Was that just a trait of the northerner? James knew the man would do the same for him – had done the same for him, on many an occasion. As had he when it came to anyone having a go at his superior, come to that. Tooth and nails, usually. One could say that it came with the job; that you’d always defend your partner like that, but that wasn’t entirely true, was it? Not when it came to James, in any case. He had certainly not always defended the ones he was supposed to; the ones he was supposed to care about. But he did care about Lewis, very much so. Probably more than he should, come to that. A lot more and not entirely appropriate, if the way his heart would twist and warm every time the inspector came to his mind was anything to go by, certainly.

Hathaway picked up his wineglass once more and took a large swig of it, swilling the liquid around in his mouth for a bit before swallowing. Snobbish way of going about drinking, he supposed, but he always got into drinking it like that when he was thinking and habits did die hard, didn’t they?

Morse had been a drinker. Not an alcoholic, if Lewis were to be believed, but verging on the edge of it. If the muttered rumors around the station over the years had been at least partly true, Morse had had a lot of bad habits. A habit of patronizing people, for instance, appearing arrogant and of sometimes deliberately showing off his cleverness. But he himself did that as well, come to think of it, Hathaway mused. The drinking, though, was something he didn’t share, thankfully – wine for late night musings did not count – and neither did he let himself go like Morse had…or like Lewis had, by all accounts, after his wife’s death. Then again, he’d found an outlet in his cigarettes that helped his thinking like he’d heard the beer helped Morse. Or at least so he’d claimed, Lewis said, whenever he ditched whatever they were doing at the moment. Actually, the northerner had grumbled one of the first times they’d gone to a pub while ‘on duty’ about how nice it was not to be the one stuck with the juice.

James had even then checked that the Inspector had stuck to the one beer. The gossips about his drinking troubles had circulated the station for some time before he returned to Oxford and the blonde had seen it as part of his job to make sure his superior was fit to do the job. In the time that had passed since then, though, his quiet checks on his boss had become more out of caring than any kind of obligation he originally had felt. The blonde was glad that he wasn’t stuck with the juice, but he was glad he could drink with his boss and make sure he was safe.

Curious, that. How much he actually, truly cared for his inspector’s well-being. Well, coming right down to it, how much he lo– James stopped mid-drink and almost got his drink up his nose as he choked on the wine. Putting the glass down quickly and rather hard on the table in front of him, he stood up so fast he had a slight dizzy spell and had to grab the back of the chair for a moment before he strode down towards the bedroom. It was most definitely time he slept, seeing as he was drunk enough to have strange ideas.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A strange dream is one thing, but to talk to a person you've never met in waking life is something else entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to all you who left kudos on the first part, that was really amazing and kind, guys. Thank you - and thanks to asparagusmama for commenting.
> 
> Much as I love Morse, I hate writing him - gods, he won't co-operate with me, grumpy old bastard. I just finished this and it's been a bit of a ride getting it down, so it's un-beta'ed and I confess that the last part hasn't even gotten my usual once-over. So if it sucks, my fault and my bad.

It was sunset. Sunset somewhere peaceful, near water, it seemed, judging by the sound and the birds around him. A park lake, perhaps, or a canal; the sounds of the water were quiet, but mixed somehow with the subtle smell of flowers and sun-touched grass. Well, that made it definite, then. He was dreaming. Not only was it the middle of winter back in reality, not anything remotely resembling this summer-scenery; there was a figure sitting on a bench a few yards away, the setting sun making their shape nothing more than a silhouette. A silhouette of someone he knew who was in an instant, though they had never ever met in his waking life. They never would meet in his waking life, at least never face to face. Face to headstone was all they would ever be able to manage.

James debated for a moment if he should just leave the person alone. After all, if this was a dream, and his dream at that, he could do what he wanted. There was no reason for him to actually confront the one on the bench – he should even be able to just dream of something else entirely, shouldn’t he?

Yet even as he thought it – was it possible to think while you were dreaming, anyway? – he found his feet had moved on their own accord and had now planted him squarely at the edge of the bench, facing so that the sitting figure was in profile. There was no sign that the other had heard or seen him, though, as the sharp-nosed face kept its direction facing the water and the sun.

Hathaway tried to think of the most polite way to ask why the person was here. “With all due respect, sir, shouldn’t you be in Inspector Lewis’ dream?”

Okay, so polite perhaps wasn’t the way to describe it. Oh, well.

At last the figure seemed to acknowledge his presence, though the head still didn’t turn. “In Lewis’? No, Sergeant, I should not. He’s having a nice chat with his wife and we decided it was best if I came here to talk to you instead.”

Raising his eyebrows, the blonde crossed his arms. The wine must have been off or they’d slipped some wrong mushrooms into the packet he’d used for dinner. Clearly he was hallucinating – he never had such strange, vivid dreams, and of people he’d never met, too.

Finally Morse turned his head and fixed James with a penetrating stare with eyes that should not be visible in the glaring light, but nevertheless shone as icy blue diamonds. “You can believe in a god that has no actual proof of existence, outside the minds of people, but you cannot believe in the image of something that has been real?” The older man snorted. “Good thing you have Lewis to do the actual detective work, Sergeant.”

Good thing, too, that he was too used to barbs like that for it raise his hackles, Hathaway mused. That the older man could apparently tell what he was thinking without any words spoken he put down to it being a dream. Also, he had just been thinking a lot about both Lewis and Morse just before he went to sleep.

The tall man finally decided to sit down on the bench a fair distance from the other occupant, sitting upright and slightly stiff with hands resting lightly on his knees. It seemed he was in for a round of schooling from this ghost or whatever, so the thing to do was keep passive and wait him out. That put most people off, and if getting up the nose of the older man would get him to, what was the expression? Bugger off, so much the better.

A low chuckle almost broke his resolve to keep still and he glanced out of the corner of his eye to get a look. “Arh, yes. A calm and unexpressive face in order to fool me into thinking you’re trying to be a good, obedient pupil while at the same time proving that you…could care less. Hm. Not as dumb as all that, then – clever enough to fool your teachers, at least. Good. Education is good for something, then.” The old chief inspector sighed. “A life far from the perils of the secular world, the world of academia, they say, where one is free to pursue knowledge for the sake of itself and no goal in mind but the road itself. Yet so many come only to learn because they think they ought to. Study without desire spoils the memory, and it retains nothing that it takes in, unfortunately”.

James felt a smile of his own tugging at his lips. Not as dumb as all that either, the old man. Or as easy to wind up – by all accounts Morse had always been good at being the one winding people up. Good at being cryptic too, it seemed, but then again, that was a fault that James himself shared on occasion. Well, more often than not, really, but he was digressing – as was Morse.

“Well, sir, the question remains – why are you here, in my dreams? If I may be so bold, you have no business here.”

“Depends on what you define as business, Sergeant.I have been a man of Oxford and a copper, so I know some of your ways of thinking, though I may not have not have been the greatest of intellectuals, nor the greatest of detectives – I’ve been wrong many times, as Lewis will tell you. Still, I must have been doing something right, to keep the job and keep him at my side.”

A slight strangled noise escaped James’ throat and he was again fixed with those too-blue eyes. “No, not like that, man. What do you think this is, some kind of half-penny erotica novel? I value Lewis, always have, though I too rarely showed him – but only ever as a friend. He had what I never could and I was jealous and happy for him in equal measures.”

Morse went quiet and took a swig from the beer that had apparently come out of nowhere, as can happen in dreams. When he looked up from the glass, he had a wistful look. “Faults and flaws are a big part of what make us human, Sergeant; they prove we have fallen from grace. All we can do is to try to compensate for them as best we know how. Which finally, impatient young man that you are, brings us to why I have decided to “go bother”, as they say, the dream of a man who has more brain than is good for him yet who never seem to pick up on the implications that are hidden in plain view.”

“That may be so, sir, but I believe Plutarch once said that the mind is not a vessel to be filled, but a fire to be kindled – and so far, you’ve not even brought a cinder.” The older man harrumphed and then broke out in a soft, rumbling laughter. A laughter that made James pick up on some of the reason why so many people seemed to have liked this man, flawed and gruff as he had been. If pushed in his waking hours, he wouldn’t be able to put a proper reason as to what it was exactly, he knew, but it struck _something_.

“So much alike, you and I,” Morse mumbled, his eyes twinkling. “But that, James Hathaway, is a warning in and of itself. You cannot learn from the mistakes of others; one might say that the mind should be its own kindler, but you can let people bring the firewood.”

The younger man nodded and waited for the elder to come to the point, though he made an effort not to look as hardly-concealed impatient as he usually did on such matters.

“So how is his faith?” Morse asked after a lengthy pause, in what seemed to have been something of a mental leap.

“In God?” Hathaway couldn’t help the snort that came unbidden. “He’s never claimed to belie-“ Morse cut him off.

“No, not in _God_ ,” he said in an exasperated voice, as if Hathaway was some particularly dumb child he was being patient with due to show of promise. “In humanity. It never broke, that faith, even in the darkest of times. Lord knows mine did. Tried to break his, too, I did. Faith in me, at least. It never worked, not even when everything would suggest that it should. In many ways, it was what kept me in the job when the ideals I held so dear was twisted and warped by the sordid minds of Oxford, the city of knowledge. Kept my sanity too, in a way.”

Hathaway was just about to ask the man to get to the blasted point already when the white-haired man rose and went to stand right in front of the blonde. He leant forward and down so that his weathered face was right in front of the sergeant’s, icy blue eyes meeting grayish blue and holding them. “That faith is something precious and I will not see it break because the two of you are too bloody thick to see what is right in front of you. And no, do not waste my time by trying to give me an outright refusal or some vague answer amounting to the same thing. That faith in humanity is tied to you for some very specific reasons and if you do not cease this enormously stupid play of pretending not to love him very soon and do something about it, I shall haunt you to the very best of my abilities.”

With that, Morse straightened his admittedly short, at least compared to Hathaway’s, form and put his hands in his pocket. "Mind you, I wouldn’t much care for sticking around for those god-awful things you call concerts,” he grumbled as he turned away and began to walk off towards the sun, fading as he did so. “What is wrong with Wagner? Or even some Mozart!” was the last words James could decipher before he was gone along with the dream, leaving a rather stunned DS James sitting up in his bed, contemplating a dream he could remember far too well.

A ghostly, familiar voice echoed through the room; “Oh, and remember, Sergeant, that the educated differ from the uneducated as much as the living differ from the dead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I put a few quotations in there, which I have to say I found here - http://www.goodreads.com/quotes/tag/education. The last sentence is one and I...just could not help put it in there, sorry if it seems a little off. As before, tell me what you think, but please, don't be mean.  
> I don't plan on writing more than this, but if it feels unfinished, tell me and I'll go over a possible further chapter.

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry if it seems short. I had intended it to be one piece, but then it got away from me and I kind of wanted to get it out there for you. I apologize if this bit seems a little dull and boring, at least it's not that long. Also I apologize if there's any Morse-haters out there and this isn't what you expected - I've always loved Morse and it saddens me to see the bashing he gets. I would appreciate constructive feedback, however, as it's been too long since I've actually written anything or watched Morse - just got the Lewis 1-6 box, so working my way through that again :D.  
> Next chapter will be a dream with an unexpected visitor, well, on Hathaway's part.


End file.
